


A New Life

by graceandkooky



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: F/F, Happy Ending, Some angst, grace-focused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 15:26:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12345408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graceandkooky/pseuds/graceandkooky
Summary: One shot.“It’s been five months.Five fucking monthssince she last saw the head of perfect curls that just bobbed into the room and dipped off to the side, slipping out of sight.One hundred and forty one days, to be precise –not that she’s counted. Until this afternoon, that is, when it manifested, unannounced, at Allison’s church.”After five months of silence, worlds are about to collide.





	A New Life

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn’t the story I set out to write and it got away from me a little, so take everything with a pinch of salt.
> 
> (I'll keep reading back to iron out mistakes but I'm posting it anyway for now.)

Grace taps her nails against the side of her martini glass, watching as the clear liquid comes alive. She wishes she’d had the foresight to book a cruise over this weekend. _Hell, even a rickety trailer in the desert: anywhere would be better than this stupid party, with its gormless guests and insipid small talk_. And there are so, so many babies _–_ _who knew you were now required to invite every infant in California to a christening?_ Grace winces as two tiny hands leave smudges of jelly on a white tablecloth. She sighs. It turns out you’re generally obliged to attend an event at your house, especially if the people hosting are family:  _go figure_. So she’s stuck here, bored out of her mind by the company and, truth be told, she’s also  _absolutely fucking terrified_ _._ It’s too hot in here, and too crowded. She drags in a steady breath but the air seems too claggy to work with. She’s starting to see stars speckling her vision and instinctively braces herself against the buffet table behind her.  _This can only end badly, and it’s still relatively early._

It’s been five months.  _Five fucking months_  since she last saw the head of perfect curls that just bobbed into the room and dipped off to the side, slipping out of sight.  _One hundred and forty one days_ _,_ to be precise _–_ _not that she’s counted_ _._ Until this afternoon, that is, when it manifested, unannounced, at Allison’s church. An ‘amazing surprise’ thatnearly landed Grace a trip to the ER. She stretches her neck, craning to trace its path amongst the crowd, but the place is too damn rammed to see anything.  _‘A small gathering’,_ Bud said. _Fantastic._ Taking another, final, swig from her drink, she counts backward from ten – sets the glass down. She squeezes her fingers, cursing the throbbing pain that courses through her hand. Arthritis is an insistent friend, no matter how hard you try to stay in shape.

Her eyes dart around quickly, desperately scanning for the bright indigo flash that she longs to catch sight of and dreads in equal measure.  _Sometimes it’s better to see the weapon before it fires._  But it’s no use, apparently _–_ disaster doesn’t like to give warning.She blinks, pinching her eyelids together and holding them closed as she tries to think of a way out.  _It’s only for a second_ _,_ she’s sure, but somehow it’s enough time for a determined hand to wrap around her wrist and tug her, insistently, off to the side.  _Fuck_ _._  Her legs feel like they’re treading through quicksand but the next thing she knows she’s in a nook in the hallway, hidden from prying eyes, staring straight into the ones that she’s been avoiding all afternoon.  _How the hell did this happen?_

“Here with Nick the Prick, I see,” Frankie smirks, the sound of what might be a cough drop clicking against her teeth as her voice spills out. “Bet you’re having a real blast with that one.” She whistles. Grace finally takes a moment to really see the woman in front of her – a blur of loose fabric and electricity. She’s shifting her weight from foot to foot, like a child who can’t burn off energy fast enough, her tongue peeking out from the corner of her mouth.  _It’s all too much. Way too much._

“Yeah, well, so what?” Grace hisses, folding her arms as tightly as her stiff sleeves will allow. “Does that not fit your narrative? Surprised I’m not sitting around here like a dried up lemon?” She snatches a breath, her face hot with something that feels like anger, and maybe embarrassment. “I’m sure you and Jacob share a good laugh thinking about that.”

The humour fades from Frankie’s face and her brow furrows, tiny wrinkles cracking across her skin. “What are you talking about?” Her voice is softer now, warming the space between them. Grace resents that, she really does. Frankie reaches out a tentative hand, resting it against Grace’s tense forearm.

Grace looks down at the intrusive flesh that she’s certain would have burned her if she weren’t wrapped in velvet. She’s almost grateful for the time she spent peeling on her dress earlier.  _Almost. But that hand looks so soft_ and Grace is nearly delirious with the desire to touch it. _Fuck_ _._ Against her better judgment, she lets it stay there.

“I got the message that you needed space. From  _me_ _._ I’ll admit that it stung, but I’m a big girl. I can take a hint.” Grace isn’t even convinced by her own words as they travel through the air but they’re the last barriers of defence that she’s got left.  _This has to be a nightmare – it has to be._

Frankie’s face is ashen and her mouth gapes, revealing at last the pastille that she’s been sucking. Grace has the sudden urge to taste it _._ _Shit_ _._ “Back up, Gracie Q. Are you high? What, pray tell, is this message that you speak of? Because I’m coming up blank on that one _._ ”

A dark sensation creeps into the pit of her stomach and Grace takes a step back, as if she’s been punched in the gut.  _No. No way_ _._ Frankie knows _–_ _she must know. Why is she fucking with her?_ Or –  _oh god._ Grace’s nose catches the scent of something metallic and her eyes roll, causing her to stagger forward.  

Frankie’s hands fly up, catching Grace’s arms, which are thinner than ever. “Hey, easy, Honey. I’ve got you.”

Grace stiffens, eyes glued to the offending anchors. “Let go of me!” Her voice is harsher than she intended, but maybe that’s for the best. The velvet seems like it’s melted away, leaving her skin exposed and hypersensitive. She can feel a flush creeping up her chest.

If it’s possible, Frankie seems to blanche even more. “Jesus, did I hurt you? I’m  _so_  sorry.” When she isn’t met with an immediate reply, Frankie tries again. “Grace, did I hurt you? Talk to me.”

“ _Of course_  you hurt me,” Grace snaps, tears threatening the corners of her eyes. She’s not referring to the slip anymore, that much is glaringly obvious.

“Look, maybe I’m a little slow on the uptake but I’d really fucking appreciate it if you filled me in because I have no clue what your deal is.” Something flashes dangerously across Frankie’s irises as she takes a step closer.  _Oh god, too close_ _._ “Last I remember it was you shutting me out, so I don’t know what I’m supposed to have done that’s got you wound so tight.”

“ _Excuse me_ _?_ _Me_  shutting  _you_  out?” Grace scoffs, though it sounds forced, like she’s narrowly avoided a sob. Her throat aches from holding back tears. “Of course. I’m the ice queen, right? The one who doesn’t give a damn about anyone? Everyone would believe that, so what a convenient story for you to go with.”

Grace’s chest is heaving and she’s fighting the urge to hurl. She reaches out a hand to steady herself against the wall behind her. She’s being cruel, she knows that, but she’s out of options. Frankie literally has her backed into a corner and there’s nowhere to run.She snags her lip between her teeth and bites down, hard. The flavour of blood is unmistakable but it’s better than tasting any more bitter words.  _What the hell is she going to do?_

“Grace,  _please_ _._ I’m trying to understand here. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

"Of course you know what I'm talking about,” Grace snaps. “Stop lying to me."

“ _Lying to you?_ Fine, here’s the truth. All I know is that my best friend stopped responding to me for five months and it nearly ate me alive, is that what you wanna hear? That I could hardly bear it?” Frankie’s voice quivers and she swats at her eyes frantically. “That I’m standing in front of you, literally begging you to talk to me, because even hearing you yell at me is better than not hearing you at all?”

A tear makes its way down Grace’s cheek, splashing onto the front of her dress.  _Thanks, Judas._  It blooms like a tiny, rouge cornflower, or a bullet-hole. She can hear people starting to mill near to their hiding place and she’s finally had enough – knows that more tears are sure to follow. So she pulls at a crease of cotton on Frankie’s sleeve and motions toward the stairs. “Come on.” If they’re going to sort this train-wreck out, or at least salvage some lost luggage, they can’t afford any interruptions. Falling into the lead, she guides Frankie into her bedroom and, praying for strength, shuts the door behind them.

As soon as it’s closed, a thick silence shrouds the room. Apparently the chatter downstairs offered some kind of false protection because Grace instantly feels more vulnerable than ever. Frankie is pacing back and forth, like she’s trying not to look at her. She, on the other hand, can’t tear her gaze away from Frankie’s small frame – from her narrow shoulders - from the maroon skirt that brushes her ankles.  _She’s never really seen Frankie’s ankles_. She wonders what the curve of her anklebone would feel like against her fingertips. _Shit, no, stick with the program_ _._

Grace sits on the end of the bed and returns to wringing her fingers. She glances down at her hands and hates what she finds there – hates the silvery liver spots that shimmer in the dull light.  _And when did her knuckles get so bony?_

She’s lost in her reverie until she hears Frankie’s low drawl crack through the space. “I know you’re not exactly one for words, Grace, but I could really use some right now.”

 _Breathe. Remember to breathe._ “Did you really miss speaking to me?”  _Fuck_ _,_ that’s not what she meant to ask  _at all_  but somehow the fragile hope sneaks out, unfiltered.

She waits for Frankie’s sarcastic answer but they’re done playing games. “ _How could I not?_ ” Frankie’s voice shakes. “How could you ever think that I wouldn’t?” The words are like tiny knives, twisting in Grace’s abdomen. “I called you. I called you every damn day for a month, Grace. I called you over and over and you never picked up, not once, and I want to know why.  _Please_ _._ ”

“Because you asked me not to!” Her reply spirals out, like a kite unravelling. She’s close to screaming, but she doesn’t know if she’d be able to stop.“Jacob called me – and you just  _know_ how much I love talking to Jacob – and told me you were finding it hard to adjust in  _good ol’_  Santa Fe.” She spits out her words but they’re less acidic -  _weaker_  - than she’d anticipated.

She coughs, thinly disguising a sniff, and then barrels on. “He said you wanted me to give you space. That hurt, Frankie, it really fucking hurt – that you wanted even more distance even after you left.” The ‘me’ might be unspoken, but Grace knows Frankie’s heard it.  _She hates herself for that_. “But I  _listened_ _–_ I gave you what you asked for even though it almost  _broke_ me. And now you’re standing here acting like I’m some kind of  _monster_ , and I - ”

“ _Are you fucking kidding me_ _?”_ Frankie takes a determined step forward and the soft press of her hands over Grace’s is a stark contrast to the fire behind her words. “ _Oh my god!_ Grace, I – listen - Honey, I swear to you –  _Jesus_ _,_ I’m going to fucking kill him with my bare hands, I really mean it.”Frankie squeezes Grace’s fingers gently, working them between her own. Grace’s eyes are clamped tight but her bottom lip trembles dangerously.  _Frankie is too close. Way too close. And she can’t bring herself to believe where this is going, because if Frankie didn’t –_

“Listen to me. I swear to you, I  _swear_ _,_  I didn’t know that Jacob called. If I thought for one second that – that –  _fuck_ , I can’t imagine what you must have – do you think I would  _choose_  to feel like – to feel - ” Frankie pauses, as if she’s considering her words carefully after the shrapnel she’s just sent flying in all directions – measuring them with her tongue. “To feel so empty.”

She speaks so quietly Grace isn’t sure for a few seconds if she’s only willed herself to hear the last five syllables. But then she opens her eyes and the tears cascading down Frankie’s face are all the clarification she needs.

Grace lets out a half-sigh, half-sob, because she knows Frankie is telling the truth – knows she’s been an idiot -  _knows_  the conclusion Frankie must have come to when all her calls went unanswered.  _What an absolute fucking mess_ _._

“I thought – I thought –  _I’m so sorry_ _.”_ Grace’s cheeks are blotchy and sore and her eye makeup headed south long ago. It smears against the back of her hand as she tries to tidy herself up, though it’s clear that she’s fighting a losing battle.

But Frankie is looking at her like she’s the most precious thing she’s ever seen and Grace can’t quite fathom it – just about stamps down the urge to look over her shoulder to check for someone behind her. “Yeah, well, I’m sorrier.” Frankie’s tone is edged with silliness and one corner of her mouth curves up, breaking the spell of sorrow.

Before Grace realises it’s happening a chuckle escapes from her throat and she covers her mouth with her hand, shocked at her own response. But then Frankie’s laughing, too, and the relief of it – the sticky happiness that suddenly seeps into Grace’s lungs – rights the world on its axis – transforms everything around them into a new, glittering picture.  _Halle-freaking-lujah_ _._

“I missed you,” Grace whispers, the truth of it offered forth like a prayer.  _There it is_ _,_ the one thing she’s wanted to say from the beginning. _There it is,_ dangling between them like a freshly picked flower.

Frankie’s grin stays, though two droplets fall from her eyes. “I missed you, too.”  _It’s still too much_ but Grace revels in the abundance, like a child cramming more berries into their carton than they’ve been told it can hold. Her heart is thrumming for more, even as her brain advises caution.

“I thought that you’d moved on, that - ” Grace chokes, struggling against a new army of tears, “that you didn’t need me anymore.”  _Fuck, that’s too honest. Fuck, fuck, fuck._ She’s on edge, suddenly –  _feels a stone’s throw away from calamity._

“Oh,  _Grace_ _,”_ Frankie soothes, her name gliding out like a silky caress. And then Frankie’s face is buried against her neck, arms weaving behind her back. Grace gasps at the contact but she instinctively wraps her own long limbs around Frankie, willing her even closer.  _This might be dangerous – might tilt them even further into a reality that they’re not prepared for._ But  _fuck it_. Anything –  _anything_  – is better than the hollow chasm that Grace felt for the last five, god-awful months.She nestles forward, nudging up to brush her nose against Frankie’s spellbinding hair.  _Grapefruit and cinnamon: she still smells like home._

A sudden fit of bravery sweeps over her and she finds herself murmuring against Frankie’s ear, lips meeting the cool metal of an earring. “Please don’t leave me again.” She feels Frankie mewl against her throat and then a rush of air as two fiery eyes lift to find her own.

“ _Never_ _._ I  _promise_ _.”_ Grace’s brain damn near short-circuits but she clings to the elation that hammers through her like a second heartbeat – the comfort that takes off its shoes outside her body and curls up with cocoa inside.

And maybe that’s what gives her the courage,  _or_ _foolhardiness_ _,_ to say, “Finish it off.”

Frankie smiles, then presses her lips against Grace’s forehead and draws back. Grace giggles uncharacteristically, dizzy from the gesture. “Now kiss your elbow.”

A long second, or perhaps a quick minute, slips by as Frankie studies Grace – tips her head to the side. Her eyes flit over Grace’s features, as if memorising the subway stops along her laugh lines. Then, without warning, she dips forward, sealing a sweet kiss against Grace’s still-laughing mouth.

Grace’s eyes widen as Frankie withdraws, though the space between them remains almost non-existent. “Frankie – what - ”

Her question falls away as Frankie chuckles, stroking Grace’s cheek tenderly. “I’m sorry, my elbow needed a little  _Grace_ _.”_ Grace’s stunned expression melts and she lets out a joyful peal, swatting Frankie’s arm.

“You’re incorrigible,” she scolds, though her slow-growing smile betrays her.  _This is almost definitely a bad idea._ They’ve been away from the party for too long already, but Grace is way past caring. _Way past anything that does not involve getting Frankie’s lips back on hers within the next thirty seconds_ _._

Frankie guffaws, brushing a soft finger against Grace’s jaw-line, following the curve of her neck. “Probably. But you love it.” Grace knows Frankie must be able to feel the erratic throbs of her pulse, but that delights her somehow, spreading warmth through her chest.

“ _I do_ ,” Grace accepts, without hesitation. Her hands rise, gingerly, to cup Frankie’s face, guiding her mouth ever nearer until it’s moving over her own. It’s barely more than a suggestion at first – two wildflowers fluttering against each other on the breeze.  _There’s still enough time for Frankie to say this was a mistake – that this shouldn’t be happening._ But then Frankie’s palms slide over Grace’s waist, pushing her back against the bedspread, and her kisses become more determined – more  _sure_ _._

Grace tries to memorise every second of exquisite bliss that unfurls in her belly – to harvest every beautiful moment – though her thoughts are fuzzy at best. She’s terrified that if they stop _–_ _though that doesn’t seem on the imminent horizon_ _–_ it’ll all be over _._ _That she’ll be left with fistfuls of air in a house that was never meant for one person_ _._ Her arms circle Frankie’s back, clinging tightly, folding her body against Frankie’s as if some invisible force might be able to merge them together.  _She no longer wants to exist where Frankie isn’t – dramatic but true._

When they finally part, a tiny gasp tumbles from Grace’s mouth and she worries that it’s broken the illusion – that it’s set to shatter the lantern of hope that’s been building behind her ribcage. But then Frankie’s head moves down until her lips find a new purpose, languishing soft, open kisses against Grace’s throat – her collarbone – anywhere not hidden by crimson velvet.

Grace is dazed and everything seems out of focus – hazily new. Her vision’s not 20/20 at the best of times but she’s somehow momentarily lost the ability to adequately distinguish between the wall and the ceiling. She’s aware of nothing but heady kisses and Frankie’s knee, which is resting precariously close to the point of no return.  _She doesn’t want this to end,_ _ever_ _,_ which is why she’s more shocked than anyone when the words lumber from her own mouth _._ “Frankie – Honey - we need to stop.”

Frankie reels back immediately, as if she’s been scalded, but Grace’s arms remain steadfast, keeping her firmly in place. She smoothes a calming hand down Frankie’s spine, making sure to circle each notch with her fingertips, before pressing another quick kiss against Frankie’s lips. “I don’t mean stop  _this_ _,”_ she gestures vaguely between the two of them, scared to give a name to what’s unfolding so incandescently.

“I just mean stop  _for now_. For one thing, this dress is practically shrink-wrapped to my skin and cutting me out of it might be a bit too much for our first - well, you get the idea.” She bites her lip,  _uses every bit of willpower she possesses to keep her eyes locked with Frankie’s_ _._ “And, I think – perhaps we’d better talk about whether this is what you – I mean, I know that it’s what I - ”

Frankie’s hand swoops up, gently covering Grace’s mouth. Her smile – that radiant, blinding grin that Grace starts to realise Frankie’s always worn just for her – is back in place. “In case I didn’t make it clear enough when we played all the chords to Bohemian Rhapsody with our tongues a few seconds ago, I really freaking love you.  _This_  is what I want.” She brushes a promise against Grace’s brow. “But given the monumental stress-fest that’s about to bulldoze us, you’re right. I’d say a quick cat-nap is on the cards right about now, wouldn’t you?”

With impressive agility, Frankie pushes up off of Grace and wraps Grace’s hand in hers, peeling back the edge of the comforter with her other. Someone must be missing them by now. _This is another mistake in a whole catalogue of mistakes_ _,_ Grace is sure _,_ _though the others have turned out pretty well so far_ _._ She glances at the satin sheets, then down at the beautiful hand inside her own. “I suppose a few minutes couldn’t hurt.”

So they curl up beneath the covers, limbs tangling organically, like it’s the most natural thing for them to do.  _Maybe it is_ _._ Grace’s arm stretches across Frankie’s middle and her head tucks itself beneath Frankie’s chin. They’ve woken up like this before – many times – their bodies shifting in their sleep to tell them what they’ve perhaps somehow known all along:  _they fit together perfectly._

Frankie’s fingertips stroke gentle shapes against the back of Grace’s neck and Grace begins to wonder if she’s writing something – something too significant for words. As a sleepy sigh rolls from Grace’s lips, she buries a sweet kiss under Frankie’s collarbone and – like magic - a half-plan flickers in her mind.

Walking her fingers slightly downward, Grace delivers a little pinch to the soft flesh just above Frankie’s hip. Her victim lets out a yelp of protest and shoves Grace’s shoulder, only to be met with an impish smirk. “Grace! What did you do that for?”

Grace giggles, running her hand over the area to soothe it. “Sorry, Sweetheart. It’s just that it’s the squeaky wheel that gets the  _Grace_ _,_ after all.”

Frankie rolls her eyes, but they soften and crinkle at the corners as it dawns on her what Grace, in her own, wonderfully weird little way, is getting at. “We’ll work on your puns, Honey. Seriously, I’ll even crack out a chalkboard and get some coke-bottle glasses.” She presses a feather-light kiss to Grace’s temple - whispers gently. “But I’m beyond stoked to have you.”

 _Later can wait until later._ And although it’s ridiculously complicated – they live in different states now, are tangled up with other people – it’s also,  _undeniably_ , simple. Grace leans up to steal one last kiss from Frankie’s lips before she closes her eyes, and  _it’s not a mistake_ , she muses, smiling against Frankie’s skin. Finally settled, they slip into a peaceful slumber. It’s actually not a mistake at all.  _It’s a miracle_.

* * *

An hour or so later, the door opens a crack and two heads poke themselves through the gap. They stare at the sight before them for a moment, close to tears, and then slowly step back, pulling the door shut once again.

“I guess our Moms finally figured it out, huh?” Bud says, trying to mask the happiness that is welling in his eyes. “Time to call off the search party.”

Equally watery eyes meet his in the faint light. “I guess they did,” Brianna sniffs. She nods her head as an idea forms steadily. “And I think maybe Mom Two had a  _little_  too much fun being grandma-of-the-hour and is sleeping it off on Mom One’s futon for the night.”

A conspiratorial grin etches itself across Bud’s features and he lets out a sigh of relief at Brianna’s quick mind. “I think you’re right.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you enjoyed the fic - comments keep me chugging along.


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